La Estrella y La Luna
by Rieka De-Volka
Summary: Drabble. It’s not hate, it’s not love, it’s not even pity. AzulaKatara.


**Title:** La Estrella y La Luna.  
**Pairing(s): **Azula/Katara.  
**Beta:** None, all mistakes my own.  
**Rating:** R.  
**Genre:** FTW?.  
**Warnings:** Er, weird mix of drama and angst and hints of smut, not precisely consistent with canon cough.  
**Feedback:** Very welcome, please!  
**Word Count:** 655.  
**Summary: **It's not hate, it's not love, it's not even pity.  
**Author's Notes: **Done for my drabble requests for Christmas, for Katalyst, who requested this pairing (which I've never written before, but which turned out very amusing indeed). Inspired by the song of the same title, by La Oreja de Van Gogh. The title means, "The Star and The Moon". I'm sorry about it being short and late… real life got in the way.

**La Estrella y La Luna. **

It's wrong and Katara knows she shouldn't. It's wrong and it's going to end so badly, so _horribly_.

And then the Princess is smirking at her, that wide tilt of lips, inviting and threatening and she can't stop anymore. She's never been able to stop.

When they touch, it's a spark of something violent and powerful, because fire and water simply don't mix and this is just so _wrong_. It's always the same between them, silent and brooding and anticlimactic, chasing shivers of disgust and desire through her spine. Azula is always impeccable, _perfect_, and it infuriates Katara when she loses control, every time, all the time.

She hasn't lost the war, though, and she will not give up.

So it starts, subtly. A snarl and vicious attacks her way, and Katara pretends to be worried when Aang comments how Azula seems to target her all the time. She goes to bed early – she's not lying at all when she says she's tired, but it still weights her heart when she leaves, little after midnight, when everyone sleeps – and meets the golden eyed goddess of sin that is determinate on condemning her soul to hell. Katara is shamefully aware that she's willing to be condemned.

Toph almost caught her, once, and Katara is still guilty about the disappointment she felt when she was unable to attend her date. She doesn't understand it, either. It's not hate – thought it certainly started that way – and it's definitely not love – Katara shudders at the possibility of it – not even pity – though there's a certain amount of if, equal for each party of their little trysts – it's just… just… _just_ and that's all.

However, even if she can't understand, she still shivers when the golden eyes, hazed by lust, fix on her, telling her of a thousand and one terrible things that will come. She still allows her breath to shape up into those little moans and gasps that escape her, not entirely against her will, when the sharp fingernails scratch the insides of her thighs. She still comes with _her_ name between her lips.

But she's nowhere near defeat. Oh no. After all, a war is simply a long string of battles, and it doesn't matter if she comes undone once or twice or always, in the end, she's going to win, and Azula will get what's coming her way.

"You have such a pretty smile," The Princess tells her once day, sitting atop her and grinning that sinister grin that can only bring a cat to mind. But then she scowls, narrowing her eyes in the same way she does when blue flames sparkle at her fingertips, "Who said you could smile?"

The burns will heal, Katara knows, because they always do. They even make everything else better, because the pain is sharp and _real_, so when she loses the battle again, she's conscious enough to take notes of her mistakes. She won't commit the same mistakes twice, she vows, even when Azula grabs her own clothes and leaves her there, panting and tired, with guilt and loneliness battling for dominance within her.

Katara doesn't know what it is – not hate, not love, not pity – only that it's wrong and it will end in flames, but she smiles, a secret, hidden smile that no one will ever get to see. Because the sky is clear and she can see up there, the moon and a star, fighting to outshine each other. When she goes to bed, tired and wincing at the bruises gathering under her skin, she sleeps peacefully, ignoring the guilt and the embarrassment and the annoyance and all those complicated things that obscure her mind. In the morning, they will come back and crush her under their weight, but she doesn't mind.

In the morning, the sun will outshine both the moon and the star, and that's all that matters.


End file.
